


many waters

by foldingcranes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Car Sex, Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, M/M, Pining, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes
Summary: It’s not like Dean cares, Cas can come and go as he pleases. He can just… disappear without saying goodbye, vanish into the night after fucking Dean stupid, leaving cold sheets behind. Cas is not his to fuss and worry over, he’s not Dean’s to care for. They’re not in a relationship. They’re not lovers.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 241





	many waters

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took me four months to write. I'm a very successful person. MANY THANKS to Stuffy_J for her splendid beta-reading work. I'm really sorry I made you triple-check my grammar.

There’s blood and guts on his favorite jacket and mud on his boots and it’s raining so hard outside he can’t even be bothered to try and find the nearest motel, not with how muddy and swamped the road is. Dean fucking hates rain. There’s something miserable about it, something cold and chilling, something that reminds him that rain can be cute when you have a home, and a fucking inconvenience when you live out of your car and shitty roadside motels.

The last vamp nest he cleaned out took forever and by the time Dean was done, it was just too late to bother. Somehow, this ‘Going Back to Hunting Alone’ joyful experience feels even more miserable than when he was in his early twenties and Sam had been living it up at Stanford.

It gets even worse when he thinks how, just a few days ago, he thought that this could be worth it. That this could be better. Dean’s too embarrassed to admit how much he liked doing the whole routine with Cas by his side, how well they worked together. How he made Dean smile and laugh and less lonely and then fucked off without a warning.

Dean’s not angry about that. He’s not. Angry. At all. It’s not like Dean cares, Cas can come and go as he pleases. He can just… disappear without saying goodbye, vanish into the night after fucking Dean stupid, leaving cold sheets behind. Cas is not his to fuss and worry over, he’s not Dean’s to care for. They’re not in a relationship. They’re not lovers.

Cas is just the guy who dragged Dean back from Hell and left his imprint on Dean’s body, who hunted with Dean and did the bare minimum to understand human ways. The guy who, two nights ago, pushed inside of Dean’s body and fucked him so  _ good _ , with such  _ dedication _ , that Dean cried and blacked out just a little.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking about the satisfaction, the little bit of euphoria that came from falling into bed with Cas, the way he put his hands on Dean’s body and molded him into something that could be beautiful, into something that was desired. How warm Cas had felt when he spilled inside Dean. How his kisses started hesitantly until they became firmer. Hungrier.

It’s all  _ Cas, Cas, Cas _ in here and Dean’s shutting down that train of thought real fast, putting a lid on the longing, on the wondering, terrified that Cas can feel  _ it _ .

Baby’s parked on the side of the road. Dean’s feeling pathetic and lonely, reaching for the bottle of whiskey he keeps for this kind of occasion. As the rain keeps falling, raindrops hitting the windows angrily, Dean takes a sip and prays for the longing to go away.

That’s when Cas shows up in the seat next to him, making Dean spill part of his drink all over himself, sputtering like a poorly coordinated baby.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean grumbles, trying to sound more annoyed than surprised. "What the hell?"

"Dean," Cas says, and Dean's not looking at him but he can feel Cas' eyes on him, intense. Burning. "What are you doing."

Yeah, fuck that.

Dean scoffs, tilts the bottle towards Cas, still doesn't look at him, flushed and hoping that Cas didn’t have his listening ears on before showing up. "You tell me."

"Drinking," Cas says, and Dean can't tell if he disapproves or not. "Alcohol won't help you, Dean."

"Don't need it to," Dean says, lifts the bottle to his mouth again. "S'not why I drink."

Cas frowns, concern etched into his brow. He keeps getting more and more human, and Dean’s heart aches at the sight of it. “You are lonely.”

“I’m not,” Dean snaps, an immediate flush coloring his cheeks.

Still frowning, Cas lays a hand on top of Dean’s arm. His fingers are cold and Dean suddenly thinks of stone, of marble, of any sort of rock. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what.” Dean grits his teeth.

“Your longing,” Cas says, and Dean only kisses him not to prove him right, but to shut him the hell up.

**

Cas slips in a third finger easily and eagerly, all slicked up like he’s just been dying to do it from the start, like he’s been waiting for this as badly as Dean and that’s how Dean can pretend that Cas wants him as desperately as Dean wants him. This must be what jumping into the abyss looks like: Dean, his head thrown back, legs spread, a thigh on top of Castiel’s shoulder, eyes closed too tightly and the little punched-out noises he makes when Castiel’s fingers hit that spot that makes him tear up with relief. It’s Castiel’s other hand on top of Dean’s shoulder, the shoulder that he branded, the way his touch makes Dean feel owned and warm, like a fever, like Castiel is going to burn him from the inside.

And fuck, Dean wants that so bad. Dean wants him so bad, his chest feels tight with need and his arousal keeps pooling low in his belly, and Dean’s heart is beating a tattoo of  _ want want want _ .

“Please,” Dean begs, and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for but he  _ needs _ . “Cas,” he sobs. “Cas,  _ please _ .”

“Dean,” Cas says, pumping his thick fingers in and out of him, eyes strangely soft. Dean’s never seen him look at him like that, with tenderness instead of distance. It makes his chest feel even tighter, like there’s not enough air in the car.

His body lights up with the movement of Cas' fingers, and Dean feels himself being stretched open, being pulled apart in Cas' hands. The first (and last) time they fucked, Dean had opened himself up for Cas, had allowed Cas to watch him get ready for him, the ghost of Cas’ touch hovering over his inner thighs. He doesn't know how Cas managed to learn to do this so well after one single fuck, but he doesn’t care at all, because it’s  _ Cas _ \--

And Cas' gaze is intense, penetrating, and Dean doesn't know if he can take it anymore, so he closes his eyes against it. Dean hides, as he’s known to do.

But then Cas says, "Dean, look at me," and his eyes pop open immediately, and Cas is right there, so close that Dean can feel his breath on his chin, and he realizes that Cas is nearly panting, and that sends Dean into a tailspin. Because Cas  _ wants _ him, Cas is  _ affected _ by this, from opening Dean's body up with his fingers, from watching Dean writhe underneath him.

Cas sounds fucking wrecked.

Dean tries to compare the first time and now, to pinpoint if Cas sounded like that before, but his brain is spinning too wildly, his breaths coming too short for any comparison to make sense.

“C’mon,” Dean mumbles, and it takes everything in him to not look away from Cas’ hungry gaze. “C’mere, get inside, lemme get you warm,” he babbles because, before this, before they started doing… whatever they’re doing right now, Cas’ touch felt cold, as if he could never warm up, and then he just cradled Dean’s cheek, he just licked into his mouth and gripped his hip tight and suddenly it was too hot.

And now Cas is pushing Dean’s thighs apart, spreading them wider, making a space for himself between them, and Dean's knee knocks against the front seat, his muscles burning a little at the slight stretch he's unaccustomed to. He would complain, but then Cas slips inside him, and that all falls away, and Dean is left panting, hollowed out and so full. He throws his head back, hitting it against the window and holding back a desperate howl, hands scrambling to hold onto Cas’ hardened arms and strong back, moaning and whimpering as Cas pushes in and out of him, burying his face in the nook between Dean’s neck and shoulder, Dean’s thighs quivering as Cas leans forward just a bit and slides back in, hitting his prostate just the right away, as if they were made to fit together perfectly.

Dean wonders if he’s ever been this close to someone else before and the possible answer to that question terrifies him. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand this amount of raw need, how Cas is able to make him fall apart with a couple of well-aimed thrust and open-mouthed kisses, how Dean wants him close to him, inside of him, how at some point Cas became so much more than he could describe.

Cas comes, spilling inside of Dean and shaking, still trying to push inside. His fingers sloppily grip Dean’s dick and he strokes once, twice, until Dean’s coming too, going pliant and weak like a puppet with his strings cut loose. They’re both panting, but that doesn’t stop Cas from reaching for Dean’s face, gripping his jaw and planting a sloppy, deep kiss on his mouth.

Dean melts into it and, for one scary minute, as Cas lets go of him and presses a soft _ good night, Dean _ against his temple, he lets go, lets himself hold on tighter to the softness of Cas’ loose embrace.

_ Maybe, this is it. Maybe it’s not so bad. _

When Dean wakes up the next morning, the sun blazing against the windows, the rain long gone, dried come on his thighs, and no Cas in sight, he’ll pretend as if he never thought that.

**Author's Note:**

> [you can absolutely yell at me here!!!](https://twitter.com/foldingcranes/)


End file.
